


On Such A Winter's Day

by lupwned



Series: California Dreamin' [2]
Category: Ocean's 8, Ocean's 8 (2018), Ocean's Eight, Ocean's Eleven Trilogy (Movies)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Flying, Lesbian Sex, Light Angst, Vacation, Weddings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-10-27 03:06:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17758592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lupwned/pseuds/lupwned
Summary: “We leave in two days and you haven't even started packing yet.”“Some of us don't need our entire wardrobe for a week long stay. Do you really needfourvests? We're going to theBahamas, for Christ's sake. The less clothes on you, the better.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we go! :)
> 
> I would highly recommend giving part 1 of this series, [California Dreamin'](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15118592/chapters/35054597), a read before reading this if you have not already! However, it isn't 100% required as long as you go in knowing a few things:
> 
> 1\. Debbie and Lou are engaged, though it took many ups and downs to get there ;)  
> 2\. They've decided upon a destination wedding in the Bahamas.  
> 3\. They've told no one.

“We leave in two days and you haven't even started packing yet.”

Debbie peers up from the magazine she's lazily fingering through and smiles at Lou, batting those pretty little eyelashes that always seem to get her what she wants, or at least diffuse the situation when Lou's got _that_ look on her face. Her entire body language screams “annoyed”, yet there's a playful relaxation to it – the slight bend at the knee, the subtle pop of a hip, and the thumbs that dangle in the empty belt loop of tight leather pants – that diffuses the situation of any true anger.

Still, Lou looks about ten seconds away from choking her, and the idea certainly does sound tempting given the right circumstances. Pushing Lou's buttons does often end up working in her favor, in all definitions of the phrase.

“Some of us don't need our entire wardrobe for a week long stay. Do you really need _four_ vests? We're going to the _Bahamas,_ for Christ's sake. The less clothes on you, the better.”

“I didn't hear you complain about my vests the other day. In fact, I believe your exact words were, 'Please never wear anything else so I can always see the goods and the guns.'”

“ _'Tits and guns'_ were the exact words I used,” Debbie corrects, “but I think I like your version better.”

“Will you please pack? I don't want any of this last minute nonsense right before we're about to get on a plane. Unless you're planning to just wear sweatpants and a t-shirt to our wedding.”

Tossing the magazine aside on the bed, Debbie shifts to her knees and crawls to the edge of of the mattress beside Lou's open suitcase. “I was thinking of going with the classy kind that has the word 'BRIDE' in fake rhinestones on the ass.”

Lou shoots her a death glare. “If you're itching for a divorce before we're even legally married, you're well on your way there.” But there's always a softness to Lou when Debbie's around, and when she reaches out to gently cup one cheek, Debbie closes her eyes and basks in the feeling of it, the closeness and contentment they've searched so long for. Against her skin, there's the cool feel of metal where Lou's engagement ring sits perfectly. Debbie's certain she'll never grow tired of looking at it, a symbol and reminder of everything they've been through up until this point.

“You ok?” Lou asks, sensing the way Debbie's disappeared into her own head.

“Mmhm,” she assures. “Just thinking.”

“Oh that's dangerous,” Lou teases, but quickly follows up with a sincere, “What about?”

“You. In a bikini. On the beach.”

“You can have that here, ya know,” Lou reminds her with a breathy laugh.

“I know, but it'll be different now because you'll be...”

Lou raises an eyebrow. “I'll be?”

“Stop making fun,” Debbie sulks. “I'm trying to be sentimental here.”

“Not making fun,” Lou assures, and with that she closes her suitcase and tosses it to the floor beside their bed, shifting her attention fully to the doe-eyed brunette looking awfully cute in her v-neck sweater and dark red pouty lips at the edge of their bed. Without a word, Debbie slides her head into Lou's lap and practically purrs as long, skilled fingers slowly work their way through her hair. In the quiet moments when the right words won't come, Debbie often finds herself like this, curled up in Lou's lap as she dotes with strong hands and perfectly placed kisses.

Somehow, Lou always knows when she needs her. Perhaps it's telling in the way her eyes glisten in those moments, but Debbie likes to think it's more of an instinct that only two people as deeply connected as they are can have.

“I love you.” It's a whisper along Lou's thigh as Debbie nuzzles her face there and starts a chain of kisses that will inevitably lead to something more.

“I know,” Lou sighs. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are glassy, like she's lost among the clouds in a daydream.

Debbie turns her head and blinks up. “You know? That's it?”

“Just making sure you're listening,” Lou laughs, gently tickling the back of Debbie's neck. “I love you too, Deb.”

Throughout the course of their lives together, Lou's said it so many times, a thrown away “love ya” as she walks out the door or a “please be safe” before Debbie carries out one of her _many_ stupid plans. But now, she says it outright, no longer masked beneath the guise of work or friendship but a token of something more. Debbie coaxes it out of her whenever possible, sometimes with words, other times with the tips of her fingers and the warmth of her mouth, but whether whispered or whimpered or spoken plainly, it's something Debbie simply can't get enough of.

Rising to her knees, Debbie sits upright in Lou's lap and offers a crooked smile as she slowly unfastens the buttons on the blouse at Lou's breast. “Will you teach me how to surf?”

“Right now? You're sending me mixed messages, babe.”

Debbie slides the shirt over Lou's shoulders and throws it aside. “When we get there.” A perfectly placed kiss where Lou's jaw and neck meet elicits a delectable moan from beneath her. “Will you?”

“Yes.”

“And on the beach,” Debbie continues, bringing Lou's hand up to her mouth to brush her lips along the tips of each finger. “Will you-”

“Fuck you?” Lou hums.

“I was going to say 'sunbathe with me'. Good lord, Lou, where _ever_ is your mind right now?” Debbie winks before opening her mouth to take Lou's index finger between her teeth.

“I will fuck you on every surface of the resort, but hard pass on the beach. The sand just gets _everywhere_.”

Debbie releases Lou's finger with a dramatic pop. “I'm assuming you know this from personal experience?”

Lou bites her bottom lip to stifle a laugh, shrugging instead.

“Scandalous, Ms. Miller. What else don't I know about your sordid past life? You have to tell me, ya know, being your wife and all.”

“You're not my wife _yet_ ,” Lou reminds her with a playful smack on the ass.

“Well in that case, I can keep my appointment with the hookers and the strippers tonight?”

“I certainly won't stop you. But I may very well _join_ you.”

“Fair enough.”

They laugh for a moment together, soft and airy and warm, until Lou pulls her close and kisses her fiercely once more. Debbie takes charge in so many aspects of their lives, but tonight she bends to Lou's touch, arching into every caress and swipe as Lou undresses her hastily and keeps their mouths pressed together throughout it all.

**-x-x-x-x-**

How is it possible that Lou makes her feel so hungover without even a taste of liquor? It's a pleasant ache, but good _lord_ is Debbie sore when she wakes the next morning. She takes time to stretch slowly, wiggling her toes where they peek out from the end of the comforter, before tiptoeing her way across the bedroom to the attached bath. Nothing less than a hot mess greets her in the reflection of the mirror, dark mascara smeared beneath her eyes and lipstick flaking at the corners of her mouth from where Lou'd kissed her so roughly the night before. At the base of her neck, there's a series of dark bruises from Lou's fingers and tongue, and boy will they be interesting to hide from TSA.

For once in her life, Debbie's so happy she feels her heart may simply burst.

After a splash of water on her face and a quick swig of mouthwash, Debbie returns to where Lou sleeps on the other side of the bed, hardly a princess with one leg dangling over the edge and a pillow covering half her face, but still gorgeous nevertheless. Lou's bare back and shoulder blades are perfectly on display, and Debbie has to muster every ounce of self restraint she has not to bend over and lick along the entire length of Lou's spine; that would certainly be one way to wake her.

From its place at her bedside charger, Debbie grabs her phone. Dread pools in the pit of her stomach as she notices the text notification icon in the top left corner, not showing 2 or 5 or even 10, but 50 unread text messages.

She only needs to read one to know what the rest are about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's what happened.
> 
> The Midwestern US was hit with an awful ice storm overnight. It just so happens that our lovely 100 year old trees did not particularly like this, and decided it was time for several of them to take a tumble - and not just a tumble, but a free fall right onto our electric lines. 
> 
> The short story is that I unexpectedly had the day off from work today, and as such, decided that the next Heist Wives story I'd write would continue where we left off in California Dreamin' - wedding planning and all!
> 
> I can't say it enough - your comments and dialogue fuel the flame here, so if you're interested in seeing this move forward, please leave a little comment below! You can always [find me on Tumblr as well](http://awomanontheverge.tumblr.com/), but make sure to leave a note below first ;)


	2. Chapter 2

“You go off the radar for a few weeks and suddenly you're engaged?!” Daphne's squealing with excitement the moment Debbie calls, having picked up halfway through the first ring.

Debbie closes the bedroom door behind her as she steps into the hallway to let Lou sleep. “How the hell did you find out?”

“The Bahamas? I took you for more of a Vegas girl myself. Don't you and Lou have a history there? Something a bit more sentimental?”

“Daphne,” Debbie growls, snapping her fingers. “For once in your life, _focus_.”

“You're going to be mad. And I don't want to ruin your marital bliss, so why don't we just move on and start planning-”

“Kluger.” It's her 'mom' voice now, the one that Constance is absolutely terrified of any time she uses it. Just a few words silence the entire loft, and even 3000 miles away, it still seems to have a similar effect as Daphne struggles on the other end of the line.

“Nine bugged your phone.”

“She _what_?”

“She's been watching for a week or two.”

Debbie clenches her jaw. “And what prompted _that_ exactly?”

There's a loud shuffle that ends with Nine's voice sweetly greeting her. “Hey, mamacita.”

“Don't _mamacita_ me. Why the hell are you tracking me?”

“If I tell you, you have to promise not to lose your cool.”

Debbie rolls her eyes. “Oh, well in that case...”

“Lou called me a few weeks ago. She was really upset and thought...well, she was worried that you were...”

“Oh.” And that's really all Debbie can say in response, because the thought of Lou being scared enough to call Nine, to feel that she was losing her to something else, to _someone_ else. But amidst the regret, there is also anger, because they're beyond this – past the sneaking and the lying and hiding from each other to avoid actually dealing with their problems. Why hadn't Lou just come talk to her?

“To be fair, babygirl was kind of a drunk mess when she called. She was blubbering and we all kept trying to tell her she was out of her mind but she kept insisting you were gonna leave and we just thought...” Nine Ball sighs. “Look, I'm sorry Debbie. I didn't mean to break your trust. We were just really worried about ya'll and-”

“I get it. I do. But next time – if there ever _is_ a next time – can you just help plan an intervention instead of going full stalker mode on me?”

“Pinky promise. But also, are you aware just how many nudes you and Lou have in the cloud? You both are just _asking_ for trouble there.”

**-x-x-x-x-**

The last few months together have hardly helped improve her cooking skills, but Debbie still tries her best, throwing together some breakfast to surprise Lou in bed with. When she makes her way upstairs with two plates in hand and a glass of orange juice to share, she finds Lou at their dresser throwing on an oversized red t-shirt and a pair of ripped grey sweatpants. “Oh no no no. Get your ass back in that bed.”

With a sleepy smile, Lou runs her fingers through the tangles in her hair to push her bangs out of her eyes. “To what do I owe this surprise?” Joining Debbie at the bed, she grabs a fork but hesitates to take a bite. “And we're sure it's edible this time?”

Debbie flings a speck of scrambled egg at Lou's face. “Just eat it.”

“I don't want to hear you complaining about crumbs in our sheets when-”

Debbie silences her with a mouthful of hashbrowns.

“I think you have a thing for feeding me,” Lou remarks mid-swallow.

“I'm stuffing you full of happy carbs so you can't get too upset when I tell you that our plans are changing slightly.”

Lou chews slowly and eyes Debbie suspiciously.

“Our lovely band of misfits have found out about our engagement and insist they're going to be there for our wedding.”

The color drains from Lou's cheeks. Picking at the corner of a piece of toast, she avoids eye contact as she tries to slyly pull more details from Debbie, already knowing full well how their fellow felons have found out about the upcoming wedding. “Couldn't contain your excitement?”

There's an argument bubbling at the surface, something about trust and communication, but Debbie decides to choose her battles wisely. She tucks a few strands of Lou's hair behind her ear and admires the crystal blue eyes gazing up at her, wide and expressive in ways that bring Debbie back to their youth together. “Yeah babe,” she concedes. “Something like that.”

**-x-x-x-x-**

Despite the sudden third (and fourth and fifth and sixth) wheel, they decide to keep their original plans to travel to the Bahamas for a laid back beach wedding and a honeymoon in Paradise to follow. Debbie's not sure how many details Nine's managed to snag before she turns off her phone, cutting access completely, but she hardly offers anything outright despite the barrage of text messages and emails, leaving it up to the team to figure out their own plans if they intend to crash. Instead, Debbie and Lou spend the day before their flight tying up loose ends at home – Debbie finally packing her shit while Lou meets with AJ to discuss running _Blindspot_ on her own for the week.

Two suitcases and a carry on later, Debbie bounds downstairs to excitedly show Lou the fruits of her labor, but is met with silence, having expected Lou to have returned home hours ago. But a leather jacket tossed over the back of one kitchen chair tells Debbie her fiance may be closer than she appears. Quickly throwing it over her own shoulders, Debbie walks outside and carefully makes her way across the beach.

“Fancy finding you here,” Debbie greets.

Lou smiles weakly from where she sits in the sand. “You look good in my jacket.”

“I look good in anything. You should know that by now.” Debbie oh-so-gracefully situates herself next to Lou with a sigh. The beach is wet and cold, the California air chilly in late-November, but she plows through it, sensing Lou needs a warm body beside her. Wrapping an arm around her, Debbie lazily combs her fingers through Lou's hair. “You ok?”

“Mmmhm.”

“You sure? Not getting cold feet, are you?”

Lou wiggles her toes in the water. “Well, technically...”

“Ha. Ha. Ha. You're hilarious, Lou.”

Nuzzling closer into the nape of Debbie's neck, Lou closes her eyes and lowers her voice. “Do you think things will be different?”

“Different?”

“After we're married.”

“Oh.” Debbie chews at the inside of her cheek. “No. I mean, maybe? I don't know. We've been together for so long, doesn't it already feel like we are?”

“We've been together but not _together_ ,” Lou corrects. She anxiously spins the diamond on her ring finger and presses a soft kiss against Debbie's shoulder. “Do you think I will be a good wife? I've never really thought of myself as one before...”

“Before?”

“Before you, I guess.”

Debbie's not really one for _emotions_ , but they hit her like a ton of bricks at Lou's confession. She tries to wipe the sudden trace of tears away without Lou noticing, but when has Lou ever _not_ been completely in tune with her?

“Are you crying?”

“Nope,” Debbie lies.

They sit together in the silence for awhile, enjoying the sound of the waves and the moon's reflection as it ripples in the water. There's so much to say, but neither of them find the courage to, opting instead for the quiet ignorance of each other's company. A yawn on Debbie's part finally lulls Lou from their little beach bubble. “We should go inside,” she instructs, groaning as she stands for the first time in what feels like hours. “We've got a long day tomorrow.”

“Sleeping on the beach doesn't sound restful to you?”

“It sounds wonderful to me, but I know someone who bitches about how sore she is from a nap on the couch and who isn't going to be particularly pleasant in the morning after a night out here.” She offers her hand to Debbie, who takes it a moment later and joins Lou in her grumbling as all the bones crack in her legs and back.

“I prefer you in our bed anyway,” Debbie remarks as they make their way back to the house.

“ _Our_ bed?”

“Yes, _our_ bed.”

“Hmm.” Lou smiles, a genuine touch of pink coloring her cheeks. “I like the sound of that.”

**-x-x-x-x-**

Although Debbie'd flown alone to California, it's been years since the two of them have been in an airport _together,_ and to help lower any post-heist red flags, Lou manages to find them fake IDs to match the ridiculous names Debbie'd entered when purchasing their tickets.

“Never thought I'd say it, but you look good as a brunette,” Debbie compliments on their drive to the airport, brushing her fingers through the recently dyed hair at Lou's neck.

“When I play the part, I really _play_ the part.” Lou tosses her hair. “It'll wash out as soon as we get there.”

“Awww, but it really suits you Mrs...” Debbie looks down at the fake driver's licenses in her lap. “Ocillier.”

“Yeah, thanks for that one. Cathy? Really? You could have given me any badass name in the world but Cathy?”

“Mine's hardly that exciting either.”

“I'd take Grace over Cathy any day. Where the hell did you come up with that last name anyway?”

“Ocean. Miller. Combine it and add a little French flair.”

Lou snorts. “I'm not even going to dignify that with a response.”

Their drive isn't particularly long, but traffic in California rarely lets up, causing a twenty minute ride to turn into over an hour. It takes at least another half an hour to find a parking spot in the overnight garage where they're leaving the car, and by the time they finally step into the terminal with their bags rolling behind them, Lou looks like she's ready for one – or several – stiff drinks.

Debbie isn't a fan of flying, but Lou absolutely hates it, opting for her bike not just because of her love of motorcycles, but for her own sanity as well. “This zoo brings out the worst in people,” Lou mutters under her breath as they wait in the security line.

“Just take the time to people watch and silently judge those who don't listen to the restricted item notices and have to throw all their shit out.”

Standing behind Debbie, Lou tucks her face close to her ear and whispers, “Does a strap-on count as a weapon?”

Debbie answers without missing a beat. “With you? Absolutely.”

Lucky for them, Mrs. and Mrs. Ocillier make it through TSA and to their gate with little fanfare. They hold hands all throughout takeoff, and when the flight attendant approaches halfway through their flight with drink and snack options, Debbie helps keep Lou calm with an overpriced rum and Coke.

When they eventually land, Debbie expects to be inundated with texts and voicemails from the team, having ignored them since Nine's confession the night before. But there is nothing waiting in her inbox when they arrive, and she isn't quite sure whether she should be more or less suspicious by that fact. Baggage claim is the usual disaster, and just when Debbie's about to go certifiably mad watching suitcases that aren't theirs spin around and around the conveyor, Lou squeezes Debbie's arm to grab her attention. “Am I drunk off my ass on shitty rum, or is that Constance over there in a suit and sunglasses?”

Debbie scans the crowd trying to find who Lou is referring to. There's a horde of drivers waiting to pick up their clients, but there's one in particular that stands out – short and skinny with long, slicked-back hair and a sign that reads “Ellen and Portia” in bright red ink. It's Constance without a doubt, the image of her in a man's suit from the night of their heist clearly ingrained in Debbie's memory, and as she closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose in frustration, she realizes that the rest of the crew can't be far behind.

“Yo moms!!!” Constance calls from across the room, waving excitedly. “Your chariot awaits. Get your asses over here so I can vlog this shit.”

“Oh yeah,” Debbie mumbles under her breath, low enough that only Lou can hear it. “That's definitely Constance.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments make the author smile and inspire more! Love it? Hate it? Take a moment to share your thoughts below and make the author's day :)
> 
> As always, you can also say hi on [Tumblr](http://awomanontheverge.tumblr.com/), but make sure to leave a comment below first! ;)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly NSFW :)

Relying on Constance's ability to navigate through a foreign country – driving on the opposite side of the road, no less – is an absolutely terrifying concept, but Debbie's surprised to find that the young pickpocket is a remarkably reliable chauffeur. She zigs and zags through the traffic like a pro, and being a New Yorker who rarely drives, Debbie guesses there's a rather interesting story behind Constance's expert-like ability maneuvering a taxi in a busy city.

Lou, on the other hand, is an uncomfortable mess. She is _always_ the driver – on every trip, in every heist, for every situation imaginable really – and being forced into the backseat is akin to her own personal hell. She never explicitly whines or complains as they make their way to the resort, but Debbie can sense it in the tenseness of Lou's body language. When Debbie offers her hand, Lou quickly busies herself with it, twisting their fingers together to shift some of her nervous energy.

“Ya'll are in for a treat,” Constance relays excitedly as they approach the resort.

“When did everyone get here?” Debbie asks.

“Last night. Daphne called as soon as she got off the phone with you and we all hopped the next plane we could.”

Lou presses a thumb to her temple. “And by everyone, you mean-”

“ _Everyone_ ,” Constance answers, her reflection grinning in the rearview mirror. “Amita is here but on some official business. Tam is the only one _not_ here yet, but she should be getting in sometime early tomorrow. Just in time for-”

“I'm really hoping the end of that sentence includes the words, ' _beach_ ', ' _sun_ ', and ' _nap_ ' somewhere in it,” Lou interjects.

“And ' _sex_ ',” Debbie adds.

“Hey, don't shoot the messenger.” Constance's face scrunches up. “Also, _gross_. I ship my moms, but don't wanna hear about your sex lives.”

“' _Ship_ '? Have 5 years in the slammer put me that out of touch, or am I just old?”

“You're just old,” Lou answers flatly.

The Paradise Island resort is absolutely breathtaking. The beaches and trees surrounding their hotel are nothing short of picturesque, and Debbie can practically feel Lou buzzing beside her to jump into the crystal-blue water as they pull into the parking area.

“You'll be staying in the Beach Tower,” Constance explains once they're stopped, pulling two key cards from her bra. “Room 120.”

“How the hell did you check us-” Debbie stops. “Nine. _Right._ Did you guys install cameras in our room too?”

Constance raises her hands in innocence. “You gotta bring that one up with management. Daphne's calling all the shots.”

Lou rolls her eyes. “Oh good, because she has such a great track record.”

“One last thing before you enter the love shack. We all have reservations for Casa D'Angelo at 6. If you need us to come up to your room to-”

“Nope, nope,” Lou assures. “Deb might not be able to decipher a map, but I'm pretty sure-”

Debbie gasps. “I resent that.”

“Am I wrong though?”

Debbie's lips plump into a pout. “Shut up.”

**-x-x-x-x-**

To no surprise, their honeymoon suite is nothing short of extravagant. A large bouquet of red roses greets them in the middle of their king-sized bed, and Debbie can't help but smile at the sweet message of “ _Congratulations! We love you!_ ” from the team that's attached to them. While she admires the room as a whole, Lou busies herself with the details, particularly the intricately hand-carved wooden dresser, and – more importantly – the wide view of the beach that is barely more than a few steps away from their room. She's akin to a dog drooling over a steak, and Debbie guesses that the hour before their dinner is going to be spent _without_ her fiance as she rushes to the beach.

“Come look, Deb,” Lou urges, reaching for Debbie's hand where she stands near the edge of the bed. “It's gorgeous, isn't it?”

And while it certainly is, Debbie's more focused on how stunning Lou looks, the island sunlight framing her face through the window and the general sparkle of excitement shining in her eyes. She looks relaxed and free and – most importantly – genuinely happy.

Debbie tucks a few strands of dark hair behind Lou's ear and leans into her. “Should I start putting together the dinner excuses now? Something tells me I'm not going to be able to pry you away from that beach unless it involves a wedding ring or lingerie.”

“Why not both?” Lou smiles. “You've got me tonight. But I make no promises for tomorrow.” She wraps an arm around Debbie and kisses the top of her head. “Unless you'd like to join me?”

“Oh? Is that an option? Am I invited to spend _my_ honeymoon with _my_ wife?”

Lou responds with a playful pinch at Debbie's shoulder. “I mean, technically we're not married yet so _technically_ this isn't a honeymoon. I'm a hot commodity, Deb. A woman on the prowl.”

“Right right right.” With her breath hot at Lou's neck, Debbie licks a slow line along the pulse there before focusing her attention to one spot in particular, leaving a deliciously dark purple and red mark just below Lou's jaw with her teeth and tongue. “What were you saying again?”

Lou threads her fingers through Debbie's hair, guiding with the pressure of her fingertips against Debbie's scalp at she shifts to the other side of her neck. “Saying? I don't recall. You're imagining things.”

“Good answer, babe.”

**-x-x-x-x-**

“Louise Miller? A brunette? Now I have seen everything.” Daphne welcomes them to the private table with crushing hugs.

Squirming, Lou shifts away from Daphne's embrace. “It's temporary.”

“I like it,” Constance compliments from her seat.

“So do I,” Debbie agrees, smiling dreamily at Lou as she plays with a few strands at the base of her neck.

“When I brought wedding dress options, I wasn't coordinating with _chestnut_ for this one.” Rose fidgets anxiously. “No one thought to tell me?”

All eyes shift to Nine Ball.

“Jesus Christ, I don't have them bugged 24/7.” Nine opens her arms and beckons the pair to her. “Come 'ere, you two.”

“I already have a dre-” But Lou's cut off as Nine pulls her into her chest and pats her on the back, only to then be suffocated by a squeeze from Rose shortly thereafter. They make the rounds, giving everyone a polite hug before falling into small talk, catching up on the missed months and what everyone's been up to during their time apart. Nine and Lou quickly fall into a conversation about surveillance technology – a subject that Lou finds surprisingly interesting and Debbie finds horrendously boring. Instead, Debbie busies herself with a flute of champagne and some bread from the basket at the center of the table, suddenly hungry after realizing they've barely eaten all day.

“So what's this official business I hear Amita is on?” Debbie asks Daphne quietly as the rest of the team carries on their own conversations.

“Funny you should ask that.” There's a twinkle in Daphne's eye and a curl of her lips that warns Debbie she should be very, very afraid. “Did you know there's an exhibit nearby highlighting some of the ocean's most famous jewels?”

Debbie raises an eyebrow. “Oh really?”

“Some of the rarest diamonds in history originated deep below the ocean's floor. The boron at the ocean floor helps shade them a signature blue.”

“Coincidental that you know so much about this.”

“Indeed,” Daphne grins, then takes a sip from her glass of red wine. “Rumor on the street is that for one day only, the Smithsonian will be loaning one of their most famous diamonds to this exhibit.”

“Is that so?”

“Ever heard of the Hope Diamond?”

Debbie laughs. “Is that even a question? I didn't spend 8 years trying to figure out the perfect piece to steal without learning a few things about historic jewels.”

“Well it just so happens that the Smithsonian's newest jewel inspector might have the opportunity to get her hands on this little beauty, and-”

“Amita.”

“Yes, Amita. Keep up, Deb.”

Debbie rolls her eyes. “You really think you're just going to be able to steal the fucking Hope Diamond without anyone noticing? If you thought the Toussaint was difficult-”

“We aren't going to steal the _whole_ thing,” Daphne corrects. “Just part of it.”

“Alright, I'm intrigued.” Debbie urges her on with a wave of her hand. “Details.”

“The Hope Diamond isn't considered a flawless piece. And it's massive for a single gem. Amita's pretty confident she can manage a very, very small cut – a cut she can use to make a certain wedding ring for a certain someone.”

Debbie cocks her head.

“Imagine it, Deb. You know how much Lou loves the water. Give her one of the rarest pieces of the ocean as a wedding present.” Daphne grins. “I trust you don't miss the symbolism there.”

“Yeah yeah, I get you, Daph.” It's compelling to say the least. The itch for the thrill of a heist has been there for months, and with what Daphne's proposed, her involvement would likely be minimal. If she keeps her head down, enjoys some time with Lou, and lets the team handle it, there'd be little risk for either of them. Debbie swirls her champagne and downs the rest of it in one large gulp. “It took me 8 years to put my plan together, and you've thought about this for, what, a day? Don't you think you're being a little cocky?”

Daphne shrugs.

“I'll admit that it's...” Debbie taps her fingernails against the side of her glass. “Tempting.”

“I thought you might see it that way.”

Debbie catches glimpse of Lou out of the corner of her eye, still animatedly discussing encryption protocols with Nine Ball. Something Nine says makes her laugh, and when she throws her head back – eyes closed, mouth open, the low vibration of her laugh buzzing in the air – Debbie's completely enamored, simply unable to wrap her head around the fact that someone so badass and beautiful has chosen to spend the rest of her life with someone like _her_. A woman like Lou deserves everything – even if Debbie has to steal her way to get it. “If you're gonna do this – and I'm guessing there isn't much I could say to dissuade you even if I wanted to-”

“You'd be correct,” Daphne interrupts.

“Just keep it between us, ok?”

“Of course,” Daphne promises. “We wouldn't want to ruin the surprise, right?”

**-x-x-x-x-**

They stay just long enough to be polite, cashing in their excuse of traveling all day and early plans for the following morning. It's a little before ten when they arrive back to their room, and while Lou is clearly exhausted, Debbie's filled with a sudden burst of energy. The prospect of a heist – even one she'll barely be involved in it – heats the blood in her veins, and Lou's barely tossed her jacket and room key onto the table when Debbie pounces, one hand at the back of Lou's neck to lead her into a rough kiss while the other expertly unbuttons the blouse at her chest.

“What's gotten into you?” Lou gasps, tugging the black tank-top over Debbie's head before shifting her focus to the zipper of her jeans.

“You, hopefully,” Debbie growls, silencing Lou with another kiss.

“I'm disgusting and need to get this fucking dye out of my hair,” Lou grumbles. “Join me in the shower?”

“Leave it. It's hot. _You're_ hot.”

“Why, Mrs. Ocillier, what would your wife say if she saw you now?” Lou teases, playing into Debbie's little game.

“Fuck me,” she whispers against Lou's lips, frantically pulling off the rest of her far-too-many layers of clothing until Lou's left in just her boyshorts and the gold chain hanging around her neck.

It certainly doesn't take much convincing on Debbie's part for Lou to take control. In a matter of seconds, Lou's got her stripped bare and on all fours, shivering as fingertips and tongue trace a slow trail along her spine. Debbie whimpers and begs, and Lou teases her terribly with the perfect mix of pain and pleasure – agonizingly slow circles with the hand that slips between her legs while sharp teeth nip and mark along her neck and shoulder. “So wet already,” Lou practically purrs against Debbie's skin. “Have you been like this all night? Spread your legs.”

Their suite is large but it isn't exactly neighborless, and while Debbie tries her best to keep quiet at first, it's a futile effort under the mercy of Lou's hands and tongue. Lou knows just how to tease her, to inch her close then take it all away, only to tumble her over the edge with a tug of her hair or a quick smack at the back of her thighs. By the time she reaches for the harness in their bag and the strap that goes with it, Debbie's absolutely certain she'll barely be able to walk in the morning – and she doesn't regret a single second of it.

Poor Rose. If she hadn't planned for Lou as a brunette, an entire neck of dark purple love bites might just push her to her breaking point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the delay! The month of February was a really rough one on a personal and mental front, but I hope this was worth the wait. Are you still with me here? Enjoying this? Leave a comment below and make the author's night :)


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